Code Name: Aries by Janie Crouch

41

Ian

I would give every dollar I had to never see that expression on Wavy’s face ever again.

It was nowhere near the blank, broken expression she’d had when we’d finally gotten her out of that hellhole in San Diego. But it was similar enough to throw me into my own panic.

Wavy and I both had triggers. Tight, enclosed spaces might be one of mine, but seeing her suffer in any way was much worse.

I’d endure closed-in spaces for the rest of eternity if it meant she never suffered another minute in her life.

“These paintings are pieces of you.” I said the words rapidly. I was careful not to crowd her in any way, but I kept myself between her and the door, as if blocking it with my body would keep her from remembering it was there.

I didn’t have long to make her understand.

I needed her to understand.

“They were your heart and soul. Your fears and passions. I wanted them surrounding me. Just me.”

God, I sounded like a fucking stalker. No wonder she was looking at me with something barely short of horror in her eyes.

That’s why I’d kept this place a secret. Because I’d known she wouldn’t understand. How could she? How could anyone?

Since that day she’d saved me, she’d been running from me—from us. I would reach the point where I thought we were finally moving forward in our relationship, and then I’d wake up, and she’d be gone.

I never panicked. I had the security team watching her. Plus, I knew she’d be back—a couple of weeks, a few days, an hour . . . however much time she needed.

And I was willing to give her that. I’d promised myself I would give it to her. Because she’d lived through what would’ve broken most people beyond repair.

Because she deserved the chance to do whatever she wanted for as long as she wanted to.

Because I was in love with her beyond reason and would do anything to meet her needs. Even pretend I was asleep so she could slip out the door without a battle.

But being without her . . . I don’t think she had any concept of what emptiness her absence caused each time. Wavy wasn’t an unkind person. If she knew the agony she left behind when she ran—the gaping hole in my chest—she wouldn’t do it. She’d pay the price herself and stay rather than get out and get whatever it was she needed.

So I’d never said how much it hurt me. I’d never made a big deal of it when she came back. Just made sure she knew she was welcome. That I loved her.

The paintings had become my way of keeping her with me when she ran. They were a distant second to the woman herself, but at least they were something.

But I’d known it was wrong. Why else would I have bought a house in the middle of fucking New Jersey and never had a single other person here?

Because this bordered on insanity. And crossed the stalker line way before that.

And now she knew. She knew, and she was afraid of me.

I took a deliberate step away from the door, giving her a clear path if she wanted to leave. But I started talking again in hopes she’d listen.

“I never wanted to make you feel trapped. After everything you’ve been through, the strength you’ve found . . . I wanted you to be free. But these”—I took a step toward the paintings, giving her a clear path to the door—“these helped me feel close to you, even when you weren’t around.”

“You bought all my paintings.” Her voice was choked.

“Yes. Well, most of them.” There were still seventeen she’d sold over the past year I hadn’t been successful in acquiring.

“Do you know how that makes me feel?”

I closed my eyes but didn’t turn. “I can only imagine that it makes me seem very similar to Erick Huen.” Bile rose in my throat.

She took a shocked step back. “What? Jesus, Ian, why would you ever say that? That’s not what I meant at all.”

Now I turned to face her. “I bought all your paintings because I want to be surrounded by your emotions all the time. That’s sick like he was. I don’t blame you for feeling betrayed.”

She threw up her hands. “No, dumbass. You couldn’t be like Erick if you tried. I feel betrayed because I thought I had a successful career. That I was independent. Turns out I don’t have that at all, just a wealthy benefactor who lets me have art shows to make me feel important, but then buys all the paintings himself.”

“What? No—”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, and fucks me every once in a while when I want it. He’s a full-service benefactor.”

My eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Rainbow.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Ian.” She backed the statement up by walking over and poking me in the chest. “So don’t take that tone with me. But I am pissed as hell. I hate to be coddled. Why would you let me pretend to have a career like that?”

I grabbed that pokey little finger before it drilled a hole through my flesh. “I’ve never pretended anything with you.”

She didn’t yank her hand back, but her anger slid away, leaving her looking smaller, more vulnerable. “You bought all my paintings without telling me. You had to have gone to a lot of trouble to make sure I didn’t notice. The records of sale from the gallery were all in different names.”

I finally understood. And for a moment had a sliver of hope. “No. Rainbow, no. Your shows were real. Your sales were real. I never once used any influence to get people to buy your works. The opposite, actually.”

“But all these . . .” She gestured around with the hand I wasn’t holding against my chest. At least she was still letting me touch her.

“I tracked down the owners afterward and bought them. Well, not me personally. My people, under different names and using different approaches. I am a businessman, after all. If word got around that there was a growing demand for your paintings, it would cost me a lot more.”

She shook her head, eyes crinkling in confusion, but at least that vulnerable air around her had disappeared. “Why didn’t you buy them from the gallery directly?”

“And have someone accuse me of being a wealthy benefactor who keeps my painter-in-residence happy by fucking her occasionally?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I would’ve given you the paintings, you know that, right? Any of them. All of them.” She slid her hand out from under mine and walked around me. “I can’t understand why you would want this many. They’re all so similar.”

I turned so I was right behind her and put both hands on her shoulders. “Similar because they’re all pieces of you, but each piece is unique.”

I turned her to face the collection on one part of the wall that were mostly reds. “Your anger and strength.”

I eased her toward the deep purples. “Your passion.”

The yellows and orange. “Your happiness.”

The grays—the hardest to look at. “Your fear that you’d never find your colors again.”

I turned her to face me. “They’re all pieces of you, and I want them all. I welcome them all. I never want to stop you from running when you need to run, but these allowed me to feel like you were with me, even when you weren’t.”

She reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck, and the last of the fear that had eaten at me since I’d seen her at the front door melted away.

“You’re going to have to stop buying my paintings, Ian. They’re redundant.”

“Not to me. Like I said, they’re unique—”

She put a finger over my lips. “Redundant because I’m not running anymore. All those pieces of me you have hanging on the wall aren’t going to be necessary because you’re going to have the real canvas”—she pointed at herself—“with you. I love you, Aries. Do forever with me. And let me paint you naked like I’ve wanted to from the first minute I saw you.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers as all the pieces of my world finally clicked into place. Because she was my world. “Yes. Always. I love you. I’m not sure forever is long enough.”

I wrapped my arms around her slim hips and lifted her until we were face-to-face and kissed her. No artist, not even one as talented as her, could capture the emotions surrounding us now. The love, the passion, the trust.

But I’d give her forever to try.

And we could start by her painting me naked. As long as she was naked when she did it.

***

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